Now Live
by Bra1n1ac
Summary: The story of a little boy who, after a strange encounter with a bright light from the stars, discovers that he has the power to make things live. Toys, books, pictures and more. He'll grapple with death and responsibility, with his relationships with other humans, and even with the aliens who seek his powers. This is a story of Christopher Robin.
1. Part 1: Winnie the Pooh

Author's Note: This story is about Christopher Robin, though it's done as a sort of Elseworlds story. I fully intend for the characters of Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh, as well as his other friends to be similar in personality to the way they were in the books, but the setting is completely different. Instead of being merely a story about a young boy's imagination, Christopher Robin finds himself in possession of strange, magical powers from beyond the stars; powers that force him to confront many, many things that he never needed to face in the books, or in any of the shows or movies; the power to make things live.

Christopher Robin is a superhuman in this story, and if you don't like the idea of Christopher Robin having incredible powers, or eventually becoming a hero of sorts, this may not be the story for you. However, I thought the idea had some merit behind it, and I wanted to explore what might happen if a good and decent, polite child like Christopher suddenly found himself with powers far greater than he was ready for.

I could talk more about this story's mood and overall premise, but you'll discover soon enough, whether this is the kind of story you want to read. For now, I'll just stop talking, and let this story tell itself.

-Bra1n1ac-

* * *

Now Live

Part 1: Winnie the Pooh

* * *

"Nari? Are you there?"

The screen blinked to life in just a moment, and across its glassy surface, an image appeared, seeming to almost rise, as though emerging from a pool of water. It was an image of a series of small, black and white dots, which changed position gradually, turning from black to white, and back again, then changing into other colors a moment later, though no distinct picture or image was clear in them. Indeed, Heik had seen that happen a number of times before. It was the closest thing to a representation of Nari's true form.

It had seemed like years since Heik had begun living inside Nari, and he wouldn't have taken any of that time back. Nari was a space vessel, of course; a machine, but she had something that most other machines didn't have. Nari was hooked up to a very special kind of power source; the Pneua. Legends said that there had once been many Pneua in the universe, but most were gone. In fact, as far as Heik knew, Nari's Pneua was the only one of its kind left in the galaxy. How exactly it worked, no one knew for certain. The secrets of the Pneua had been lost a long time ago, along with how to construct one. Still, one thing about it was obvious. When it was connected to something that could properly harness its power, the Pneua brought things to life.

"Yes, I'm still here." Nari replied, as the ship turned gradually in space, "He's closing on us fast, but I'm still okay."

"So we can't outrun him." Heik muttered, "Can we target him with our weapons?"

"No. His craft is too small and too fast-moving."

"Is there any kind of evasive action we can take?"

"Like what? I'm already doing everything I can think to try."

For months, Heik and Nari had been able to avoid being detected by Gaisrah, but it looked like they were finally caught. Soon, Gaisrah would seize them, drag their ship to a stop, board their vessel, and abduct Nari. At least, that was how Heik thought about it, because whenever Gaisrah stole a Pneua, everything that had ever been given life by it returned to its previous state. Nari would become an ordinary ship computer, and even if Heik was allowed to live, which was doubtful, he knew that it would feel awful to go on, knowing that he'd let Nari be destroyed forever. The time had come to make a hard choice, but deep down, Heik knew what he had to do.

"Nari," Heik said at last, "If he gets too close, and there's no other way to escape, please jettison the Pneua. He might get me, and the ship, but... I don't want him to get you. It's wrong. We've got to keep him from getting it. Do you understand?"

Nari was silent for several seconds, but finally, she replied in a very sad voice, "Yes. I know you're right. I wish there were some other way, but... The hard part will be getting it out of his reach. There aren't too many places where he truly can't get to, but maybe if I try to send it somewhere with inhabitants, they can protect it."

Only a fraction of a second passed as Nari made her calculations, and soon, she'd said "Got it."

By that point, however, Heik could hear a rapid, tapping, creaking noise coming from the upper hull of the ship, and he knew what that meant. The ship was starting to get warm as he clung to his seat, but at last, Nari spoke one last time.

"I'm sorry, Heik. Goodbye."

In a flash, there was a clanking noise from under the floor of the cockpit, and a tiny light, like some far-off star could be seen through the main viewscreen, flying off in the direction of the nearest star system. However, what Heik noticed most was how the multicolored dots on the secondary screen had changed to a series of black and white ones. Nari was still a powerful computer, and still had very complex programming, but she wasn't alive anymore.

However, when Heik looked up at the star system where the Pneua had been sent to, he wondered, for a moment, what she'd been thinking. Sure, there was life on one planet of that system, and they sounded like intelligent creatures, but as far as Heik could tell, they didn't even have a reliable means of space travel yet.

* * *

March 8th, 1924

Christopher had just finished dinner and pushed his plate away, then rushed upstairs to get his favorite toy, and come back downstairs, dragging the old, stuffed swan behind him. It had been a good Saturday overall, and he'd spent quite a bit of time outside, but it was good to get the chance to play with his toys again, even if he didn't really have anyone else to share them with.

Sometimes, Christopher's father would play along with some of his games, when he would make up stories for his stuffed animals to act out, but that night, it seemed unlikely that that was going to happen. Both his father and mother had sat down on opposite sides of the downstairs drawing room. His father was in an armchair closer to the stairs that lead up to their bedrooms, and his mother was sitting in a smaller chair right next to the floor radio, and turning the knobs. It didn't look like a promising night for a game with his family. Still, Christopher approached his father hopefully, with the toy swan in one hand.

"Papa?" Christopher asked, stepping closer to his dad and holding up the toy swan, "Would you like to play a game with Pooh and me?"

However, his father only seemed to think it over for a second or so, before he shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Christopher. I can't. I'm too worn out today." his father replied, "If you want, though, you can go to the hill in the back. It's a nice, clear night, and I'll bet Pooh would be interested in seeing the stars."

The young boy was very disappointed a few seconds later, when he carried the toy out of the room with him, but nevertheless, he'd forgotten all the games he'd been planning on playing, and in the end, it was a good night for stargazing.

Soon, Christopher had brought his swan out onto the hilltop with him, and had climbed up into one of the branches of an old tree that had been standing on that hill since well before he'd been born. The night sky was exceptionally beautiful, as Christopher sat on a thick branch, laying Pooh the swan down carefully next to him.

Christopher could already make out dozens of stars that he'd seen and read about in his books, and several constellations as well, although to him, they never really looked like what the books said they did. Still, it was a pleasant sight, and it certainly wasn't the first time that he'd ever spent a lazy evening just watching the stars with his toys.

"All the same..." Christopher remarked aloud, holding up the toy swan and speaking to it directly, as he often did to his toys, "It would be so much better, if only you could enjoy it as I do. If only you could say you enjoyed it, or make any kind of reply at all. It wouldn't need to be much; just some silly remark about how the sky looks just like the puddles in the street tonight, or something of the kind. I'd be satisfied with that."

However, as usual, the swan said nothing. Its silence was, in a way, the most horrible reply it could have given, because it confirmed poor Christopher in the sad realization that he'd always really known.

"I'm... I'm alone tonight." Christopher observed, his face falling and his head drooping, as he let the stuffed swan sag in his hands, its head tipping back over its body.

For several seconds, the boy was indeed alone, facing those sad thoughts by himself as he looked down at the tree bark below him. But as he watched, he noticed that something strange was happening to the bark; it was growing lighter in color before his eyes.

For a moment, Christopher blinked, checking the bark again, and sure enough, it was the same color as before. The only reason why it had seemed to be a lighter color was that a light was shining on it, and indeed, on the entire tree and hillside, and the light was growing brighter.

Quickly, Christopher looked up towards the light source, and his eyes and mouth opened all the way in amazement. One of the stars in the sky had grown larger than the others, and it was growing visibly bigger with every second that passed.

Dropping Pooh the swan to the ground, Christopher quickly began the long descent down the tree's branches, and when he finally got back to the ground and retrieved Pooh, then turned to look at the star again, he discovered that it was noticably bigger. Christopher knew only a little about star constellations, and like most children of his age, had never been taught what to do, in case one star should happen to suddenly grow larger than the rest, so for a while, he simply stood there on the hillside, staring up at the rapidly-growing star in wonder. He wasn't even certain whether it was a good sign or a portent of some disaster, but what he didn't expect was for the star to actually be no larger than his head.

The star was on top of Christopher before he knew it, and he found himself falling over on the grass with the tiny, shining item, whatever it was, pushing against his stomach. The strange thing, however, was that even as it had pushed him over on the grass, there'd been no sense of pain or impact. The only thing that Christopher had felt when the star had struck him in the stomach was a strong, but pleasant feeling of warmth all over, as though he were wrapped all over in cotton and wool blankets, and in no danger of being unwrapped from them.

Quickly, Christopher sat up, looking around to try to see where the star had fallen, if only so that he could present it to his parents as some reason why his clothes were all dirty. However, he couldn't find the star anywhere. It was as though it had just vanished. For a moment, he thought that he might have just imagined it, but then he looked down at his shirt, and the place where the star had hit him, and gasped in amazement, because he saw that a soft, glowing color was beginning to spread along his body, moving out from the spot on his shirt, and traveling not only across his entire torso, but into his arms as well, and finally, into his fingertips. The glow was very beautiful, and it changed colors; from a beautiful, leafy green color, to a sickly shade of dark purple, which he didn't particularly like.

However, by that point, Christopher was most definitely afraid, and he didn't know what was going on. Quickly grabbing Pooh again, Christopher ran back to the house, hoping that his parents would have some kind of explanation. However, by the time he'd gotten back to the front door, the glow that had surrounded him had faded, and he looked more or less the same as when he'd left the house to begin with, albiet a bit grubbier.

Christopher's parents were still busy with the radio and still didn't look like they wanted to be disturbed. Nevertheless, he still probably would have asked them about the star if any of the glow was still left on him, or if he'd had any evidence that it had really happened. In a way, that only made Christopher more upset, and he didn't want his parents to see that he was so sad, so he quickly retreated to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"I feel so silly." Christopher said to Pooh the swan, as soon as he'd closed his room door, and was reasonably certain that he wouldn't be overheard, "I'm not hurt, and I'm not even all that dirty. I suppose I was a bit scared, but I don't really have any good reason to be upset, yet all I want to do is cry. I suppose if you were alive, you'd tell me not to be such a crybaby, wouldn't you, Pooh?"

However, just then, Christopher's eyes widened again, for the second time that night, because the sight that he was witnessing wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. The moment he'd said those words to the stuffed swan, its eyes, which had previously been only made of buttons, had seemed to blink. Christopher rubbed his own eyes in a hurry, looking more closely at the stuffed animal, but then its beak, which had previously been a single piece, sewn together, actually opened, and Christopher heard a voice coming from the toy, as its beak opened and closed.

"That's about the size of it, Christopher. You'll never get nowhere in life if you blubber over every little thing."

With a start and a shriek of alarm, Christopher Robin dropped the swan toy to the ground, and backed away towards the door, watching the stuffed animal carefully, and more than a little fearfully. At last, however, as time passed, and the stuffed creature did little more than rub its head and back as if they were sore, the young boy was just able to pluck up the courage to speak to it again.

"Did... Did you just talk?" Christopher asked, his eyes still as wide as saucers. However, the toy's reply came a bit more quickly than Christopher might have liked.

"Well, happy birthday to you too, I suppose. I was just trying to give yeh some friendy advice. Yeh didn't have to go and toss me like yeh did."

"Sorry." Christopher replied, actually feeling a little ashamed, but the toy's attitude was far from gracious, and it was hard to feel appreciated in its presence.

"Just so's it don't happen again, I suppose we can put it behind us." the swan said with a bit of a shrug, taking a moment to run its beak along one of its stuffed wings as it spoke, as though it were grooming itself, "Anyway, there's always more important things to concern yerself with."

Christopher Robin was sure that he didn't enjoy talking to Pooh since he'd come to life, and he was starting to get a little worried. Even so, just to be polite, he asked, "Like what?"

"Well, yur still young, and you've got some talent." the swan explained, "Yur a smart-looking kid with a cute, innocent look; the kind crowds love. Put a kid like you up on stage, have him do something incredible, and folks'll pay a fortune."

"Something incredible?" Christopher asked, feeling confused, "Like what? What can I do that's incredible?"

"Well, yeh do a darn good ventriloquism act with that swan puppet of yurs, if yeh know what I mean." the swan suggested, preening the cotton of its other wing.

"Are you saying I should lie to people; tell them I can throw my voice?" Christopher asked, starting to get a bit angry with the swan.

The swan seemed to be thinking about it for a moment, but at last, he said "Well, 'lie' might be too strong a word. Come up with another word for it, and it should all be awright. After all, nobody could blame a sweet kid like you fer doin' what it takes to succeed, eh?"

At last, however, Christopher had folded his arms. He was really starting to get angry with Pooh, though he tried not to show it.

"I don't like the way you think." Christopher said at last, "I mean, really! Trying to swindle folks out of their money with a fake ventr... vent... ventraculism act! You should be ashamed to even think such things."

For a moment, the swan turned and looked up into Christopher's eyes with a puzzled expression, as though he were trying to figure the boy out, but at last, the swan bowed slightly, and said "Beggin' yur pardon, sir," looking as though he meant it not at all. However, in another moment, the swan continued speaking.

"In any case, it don't look to me like yev got a great deal to yur name, and there aren't a great many good openings for toy swans that can match the thrill of a stage performance, nor the money neither. That's always nice. It just seems to me that ought to be what yur shooting for."

"You're a very bossy, crude and dishonest bird, and now that I've got to know you, I don't think I like you one bit." Christopher said firmly, raising one finger as if to scold his toy. The swan was starting to look just as upset, however, and in a moment, he actually jumped up onto the bed, arching his neck as though trying to look threatening.

"Well, it's yur business who yeh like and don't like." the swan said, "I got big dreams, though, and I'll bet you do too. Yeh can't hide it from me, kid. Deep down, I'll bet yeh want to hear the crowds chantin' yur name, eh?"

"Crowds don't chant for little boys." Christopher replied, stepping forward and grabbing Pooh by the beak, "I've never thought like that before. I don't care about cheers or praise. I just wanted to play some games, and I wish you'd go back to being just a regular toy now, if that's all you can think about."

However, that time, the swan didn't reply, and for a moment, Christopher was confused, until he looked back into its eyes, and discovered that they were ordinary buttons once again. Then he tried to open the swan's beak, and found that it was sewn shut again. For a moment, he just looked at the swan, scratching his head, and at last, with a slight shiver, he put Pooh into the wastepaper basket that was sitting on one side of his room. After that, however, Christopher spent a few seconds, merely looking at the stuffed swan among the papers, before he began to wonder if the whole thing had been rubbish, and to wish that he could be sure of what had really happened. It was then that he decided to try something else, though he had no way of knowing whether it would work.

In just a few moments, Christopher had opened the wooden box where he kept all his stuffed toys, and dug through them, one by one, until he found the large, yellow teddy bear with the red shirt, which had been given to him by his father. It was another one of his favorite toys, and aside from the swan, he'd probably spent more time with it than with any of his other toys. Still, Christopher was starting to get an unpleasant feeling whenever he thought about playing with the swan, as though he could never look into its button eyes again, without feeling distaste for the rude, ambitious creature it had been. Clearly, he needed a replacement for Pooh the swan.

In just a moment, Christopher had sat the toy bear down on the floor in front of him and sat down, cross-legged, across from it, looking into its innocent, stuffed face for several seconds. At last, brightening up, Christopher spoke to the toy.

"You're the new Pooh from now on," Christopher said, though he still didn't dare to touch the bear just yet, "but before anything else, we must set up some rules. You're not to get greedy, or to plot and scheme for money, do you understand? I won't have any of it. I want you to be... a gentle soul; a kind-hearted person, who never wants to hurt anyone, and thinks of everyone as his friend. You'll be friendly with everyone you meet, and you'll have very simple wishes, like... Well, like honey. You'll be as different from that nasty swan as night is from day."

With those words, Christopher Robin finally picked the bear up again and embraced it tightly as he said one more thing to it.

"Most importantly, I want you to trust me, and like me, and I want you to know what it means to love somebody, and to be loved back. Please don't ever ask me for something that isn't as simple to get as a jar of honey. Do you think you can live like that?"

There was silence for just a few seconds in that room, and for a moment, Christopher Robin almost thought that the whole thing really had been in his imagination after all, but just then, he heard a voice; husky-sounding, but light and kindly, not unlike his own grandfather's voice, except more innocent and less wise.

"Yes, Christopher Robin. I think I can. In any case, I shall just have to give it my best."

"Bear!" Christopher Robin exclaimed, pulling the stuffed bear back from his face in delight, and putting it back down on the floor, where it slowly got up on its little, stuffed feet, almost seeming to rotate its plump body into a standing position, "You can talk!"

"Well, I hear someone speaking, and it seems it's not you, so I suppose it must be me." the bear said with a smile, seeming to sincerely mean every word, "Also, it seems that you can talk too, and that's very good, because if neither of us could talk, it would be very hard for me to ask you any questions, or for you to answer them."

Christopher Robin laughed just a little as the bear spoke, and that was the moment when their relationship really began to take shape. The bear reasoned everything out aloud, in a very simpleminded way, which Christopher found very funny, but he didn't seem to mind when Christopher laughed. In fact, he'd often join in the laughter too, as though merely because he wanted to enjoy the joke along with everyone else.

"Well," Christopher said after a moment or two, "What kinds of questions do you want to ask me?"

"Well, for one thing," the bear said, tapping his head with one arm and scrunching up his face as though thinking hard about something, "I know that it's customary to greet new people when you meet them, and so I say, 'hello, Christopher Robin. It's very nice to meet you.' But this is the first time that I can remember having ever met myself, and I should like to know how one is supposed to greet oneself properly."

Christopher Robin really laughed at that point, leaning back against his bed with a long series of chuckles, which the bear seemed to do his best to imitate a moment later, which only made Christopher laugh harder. At last, however, Christopher dried his eyes, which were filled with tears of joy, and fighting back another chuckle, he replied.

"Oh, silly old bear. You never need to greet yourself. Others greet you instead."

"Oh." the bear replied with a short nod, as though it all made sense at that point, "That's good. I should hate to think that I was treating myself harshly during our first meeting. Still, I wonder who will be the first to greet me, if I shan't do it."

"I will!" Christopher said, lifting the stuffed bear in his arms again, and holding him at arm's length with a bright smile on his face, "Hello, Winnie the Pooh. It's very nice to meet you."

"It is very nice to meet you too, Christopher," Pooh Bear replied, "and I hope that we shall be great friends."

* * *

Indeed, Christopher and Pooh Bear did become great friends, and in fact, Winnie the Pooh quickly became closer to Christopher Robin than any of his human friends. They got along perfectly together, with Pooh always making Christopher laugh, and the boy, in turn, providing Pooh with honey when he said he wanted some, and with cheese, fish, berries and a number of other foodstuffs when honey was scarce or would be missed. Pooh always seemed grateful for whatever he was given, though he did seem to get hungry pretty easily, and was almost never truly satisfied.

It only took Christopher a few days, however, to realize that his relationship with Pooh Bear would need to change. Christopher had been at lessons that morning, and had been too busy to play with the silly, old bear, and when he'd gotten back, he'd discovered that the basement cupboard had been raided of its honey jar, and there was sticky honey smeared all over the bottom three shelves and a nearby chair; clearly by a stuffed paw.

Christopher had needed an hour or two to finish cleaning up all the spilled and smeared honey, off both the cupboard, the chair, and Pooh Bear himself, and fortunately, no one else had seen the bizarre honey-prints, but it had still become obvious that Pooh was no longer a mere toy, and that Christopher would need to do something about him; find some place to put him during his lessons, or while he was asleep.

At first, Christopher had suggested that Pooh Bear stay in the toy box, but Pooh had looked sad when it had been suggested to him, because, he'd said, there was no food in the toy box, and no one to talk to either, and in any case, it was ever so dark, so would Christopher please find a better place for him to live?

After that, Christopher had thought briefly about sending Pooh out into the woods behind his house, to live in the woods like a real bear, but the problem was that Pooh was very small and not very strong or bright, no matter what he looked like, and Christopher shuddered at the thought of some wolf or fox discovering Pooh Bear in the woods and attacking. The young boy continued puzzling over that problem all day and into the following evening, when he was just about to go to bed. Then, an idea came to him.

Quickly, Christopher Robin got out of bed and rushed over to the windowsill on one side of his room, clearing away two old kangaroo dolls and a tiger toy, then moving his little chair right up to the windowsill, to create a makeshift desk. At last, he reached up into an alcove in the wall, where all of his books were kept, and picked out one labeled "letters" along the side. There was nothing written in the book, but a few letters, which he'd written himself as part of his morning lessons, but that was the very reason why he'd picked it out.

Quickly, Christopher grabbed a pen, and tapped it on the paper a couple of times, thinking about what he was going to write. Christopher could write a little by that point, thanks to his morning lessons, but before an hour had passed, he'd still had an alphabet and grammar book open in front of him on one side of the window sill, and a dictionary on the other. He was sure he'd made a few mistakes in writing his book, but he'd done his best to make it look professional and real. His intention, after all, was to read it to Pooh Bear when it was finished. For the moment, however, as he put his pencil down, he settled for reading a part of it to himself.

"This is the story of the Hundred Acre Wood." Christopher began, "The Hundred Acre Wood is a charming place, with no wolves, foxes or bobcats, or any other animals that gobble people up. There are many trees and many gardens in the wood, and the trees are magic, because when a tree is hollowed out, instead of growing weak, it becomes strong and rigid, and becomes a very good place for a small animal to live in without fear. In the Hundred Acre Wood, there is one tree in particular, which is hollowed and decorated as a nice, little home. There is a door in the front of the tree, and windows along the sides, and little bits of shingled roof stick out of the tree. On the inside of the tree, there is a charming little cucco clock, but without a cucco bird, and several small chairs, just large enough for a small animal to sit in. There are drawers for keeping fresh shirts in, a cupboard for honey and other supplies, when needed, and a nice, big mirror along one side of the room. Outside the front door, there is a firepit for cooking, and a little bell, which can be rung to announce the arrival of visitors or letters. There is also a postbox there, and a little sign over the door, reading 'Mr Sanders,' but no one named Mr Sanders lives in the house. This is the house where Winnie the Pooh lives, and a fine, safe and sturdy house it is. Christopher Robin visits him there often."

Christopher had just finished drawing a sketch of the tree-house on the second page, when something occurred to him; an idea that he'd never considered before. Of course, his past experiences with making things live had been mixed, so he hesitated before making his decision on the subject, but in the end, he knew that he had to at least try it.

Soon, Christopher had leaned his book up against the window, looking at it intently, and before long, he was speaking to the book, as he had to Pooh Bear.

"You're not a dangerous place, but you are a fun place," Christopher said to the book solemnly, "the kind of place where a boy can go to have fun whenever he wishes, and come back home in a twinkling when he's done, or when he's needed. You'll be the perfect place for toy animals to live, and you'll have a nice, honey tree for Pooh bear."

Then, reaching forward, Christopher Robin placed one hand on the book's front cover, and in a voice that he hoped was too quiet to be heard outside of that room, he said "Now live."

The book gave a shudder under the young boy's touch, as though something inside of it was truly alive, but the book itself didn't speak. Instead, before Christopher's very eyes, the book began to change shape; its cover becoming a bit taller, and the binding of the book changing into a real, hard-bound book. A title faded into existence on the front cover, along with a picture beneath it, and an author name near the bottom, and at last, when the changes ceased, Christopher could barely believe it.

There, on the front cover, there was a picture of himself, walking hand in hand with Pooh Bear down a dirt path and into a beautiful wood with the first light of dawn, just peeking over the horizon. The rest of the front cover read "The Hundred Acre Wood, by Christopher Robin."

It took Christopher's breath away, even as he opened the book and turned a few pages, finding the descriptions he'd made of Pooh's house, but there were also descriptions of the honey tree, and a number of other places, which Christopher hadn't written, and yet, they were all written in his style, as though he'd written every description himself, and just forgotten about it. Closing the book again, Christopher looked at the binding, and was amazed by how professional it looked. There was the title again, and his name, along with a smaller version of the picture on the front cover, and on the back cover, to Christopher's amazement, there was a short paragraph describing the book.

"In this first book by Christopher Robin, a series of terms, phrases and sketches reveal for us his vision of a world where even his toys would have no reason to be afraid; a place uniquely suited to himself and his newest friends. Christopher weaves these phrases and images into a magnificent, magical world, that bears many future visits for anyone with a sense of wonder in their hearts."

"Who in the world wrote that?" Christopher asked aloud, staring in confusion and bewilderment at the plot summary and review on the back cover. Still, as puzzling as it was, he was eager to see if the picture that he'd drawn was still in the book.

As he flipped through the pages, however, he found that not only was his picture still in there, but again, so were many others, done using his technique. More to the point, as he turned to the page with the house labeled "Mr Sanders," he began to look more closely at the drawing, and was once again stunned by what he saw. The branches of the tree in the picture were swaying, as though in a light breeze, and the closer that Christopher looked at the sketch, the less it seemed to be a mere sketch, and the more color it seemed to adopt, until finally, it looked as though it were a painting rather than a sketch, and moving as though it were alive.

Christopher stared at the picture in wonder, discovering as he looked more closely, that it looked almost real, as though he could reach right out and touch the bark on the tree. Slowly, with one hand, he reached towards the picture...

* * *

"Pooh! Pooh, wake up!" Christopher exclaimed, shaking Pooh out of his sleep. Pooh Bear had been asleep on the floor of the bedroom that night, and he still looked groggy when Christopher shook him awake, but when he replied, he sounded more confused than upset.

"Yes? What is it, Christopher? Is it time for breakfast already?"

"No! No, it's not breakfast time." Christopher exclaimed, beaming with energy and happiness as he grabbed Pooh and pulled him towards the windowsill, "I want to show you something I made for you."

"Oh. Alright." Pooh replied, allowing himself to be lead by the hand to the windowsill, where Christopher pulled open the book labeled "Hundred Acre Wood," and pointed eagerly to the moving image of the tree inside the book.

"Do you see, Pooh Bear?" Christopher asked, still beaming, "That's going to be your new home, and I'll come to visit at least every week; every day if I can manage it, and you can come and visit me when I'm home."

Pooh Bear squinted just a little, looking at the image of the tree, and did seem impressed by it at first, but at last, he'd started to shake his head sadly.

"No, I don't think it will do at all, Christopher Robin. I'm sorry."

"What?" Christopher asked, confused, "Whatever is the matter, Pooh?"

"I'm a nice, tall bear with a round tummy." Pooh pointed out, "That tree is much too small for me to live in, and much too flat. Why, I should never fit inside."

"Silly old bear." Christopher replied with another chuckle, "You won't be living in the paper, but in a real tree, just like that one, except bigger, and not so flat."

"Oh, my!" Pooh exclaimed, as though the thought had never occurred to him, "Yes, that does sound good. I should like that, although I'm certain I would miss you very much, Christopher."

"Well, let's find out." Christopher replied, turning back to face the page again, "Put your paw on the picture of the tree."

"Like this?" Pooh Bear asked, pressing his strange, cottony paw against the image, and just like that, it happened, just as it had to Christopher himself minutes before. A great wind of some kind seemed to kick up around the book, and Pooh Bear began to look smaller and smaller, disappearing into the page. It was a strange magic, that had become part of the book somehow, though Christopher couldn't explain it, and in a moment, he'd placed his own hand on the image as well. In a flash, the paper seemed to pass over him like a veil, and Christopher Robin found himself falling forward on the grass, in front of a good-sized tree with a hollowed-out bottom, with a door, two windows, a mailbox, a firepit, a doorbell and the sign above the entrance reading "Mr Sanders." It was all exactly as Christopher had described it. Of course, he'd seen the tree before, and had been by the honey tree to see if it was the way it was written as well. Sure enough, the Hundred Acre Wood was exactly what Christopher Robin had written it to be, but it was real, tangible and alive. The air was fresh and clean, and there was no sign of fog, rain or snow; at least not yet.

Christopher stayed on that hill for a minute or so, just breathing in the clean air and wondering where Pooh had run off to, when finally, Pooh Bear stuck his head out of one of the windows of the tree-house, and gave his evaluation.

"This is a good house." Winnie the Pooh remarked, "Thank you, Christopher. I will enjoy living here. There's even a cupboard for keeping honey. I do hope that I can get more when I run out."

"There's a honey tree just a short ways from here." Christopher Robin pointed out, "If you just follow the bees, you're bound to come to it eventually."

"Oh, yes." Pooh said at last, "Where there are bees, there's sure to be honey. This seems like just the sort of place where a Pooh Bear could live very happily, only..."

"Only what?" Christopher asked, a little confused. Pooh was usually happy as long as he had enough to eat; at least when Christopher had seem him in the past.

"It's only that I fear I shall be lonely here." Pooh Bear replied sadly, "I know that you can't stay here, but still, I do wish that there was someone else here; someone who I could play games with, and take walks with, and perhaps share some honey with. This seems like an awfully big wood for one little Pooh Bear, and I should so like more regular company."

For a moment, Christopher felt a little hurt that his own visits wouldn't be enough to satisfy Pooh, but only for a moment. When he took a few seconds to think it over, he realized that Pooh was right. It wasn't good for him to live by himself in the woods like that, no matter how safe they were.

"You're right, Pooh." Christopher replied with a smile, "I'm going to go back to my room. There's one more thing that I think I can do for you."


	2. Part 2: Back to Life

Now Live

Part 2: Back to Life

* * *

April 10th, 1926

Marie Robin had planned that morning for two weeks; when she would finally be able to get together with her closest friends and talk to them about what had been going on in their lives. She'd put the kettle on when they'd all arrived, and set out some snacks before she began talking with them about recent events, and in moments, her mind was filled with thoughts of them and their families. Jason had won his most recent baseball game by a single pitch, Christine had played an angel in the last Christmas play, Darren was in school already, and had already made several new friends, who he was spending a lot of time with. Indeed, that one seemed to hit closest to home for Marie, because while her son had his share of friends, he seemed to spent most afternoons in his room.

Indeed, the thought had troubled Marie so much, that when everyone had left, she went up to her son's room and knocked briefly on the door. In an instant, there was a sound like a wind, as though someone had left the window open, then a stomping noise, probably of someone shutting the window, and at last, a thud, as though someone had just closed a book. The noises took only a few seconds, but Marie had heard them before, and she wondered just what Christopher could have been doing in his room that would make such strange sounds. He was a studious boy, to be sure, and he loved to read, which explained the book noise, but the others made his mother wonder.

"Christopher? Christopher, are you in your room?"

"Come in, mom." came the voice of her son from inside the room, and by the time she stepped inside, sure enough, it looked as though Christopher had been studying hard. He had the dictionary on one side of his desk, and a book open in front of him, which he seemed to be reading as he wrote something down on a sheet of paper next to it.

"Christopher..." Marie began, "It's a very nice day outside, and considering that you have the whole day to yourself, I thought that you might wish to take a break and go play a game or two with some of your friends."

"Alright." Christopher replied with a smile and a nod, "I'll be going outside in a minute or two."

Marie felt a little surprised by that response, for some reason, even through Christopher had never been a disagreeable boy, and she hadn't expected him to argue with her. In the end, with a nod and a smile, she backed out of the room again, saying "Well, I hope that you have a good time, dear."

Then the door snapped closed behind her, and Christopher smiled. He had every intention of going outside and spending time with friends, so there'd been no reason to lie to his mom, but she probably wouldn't have understood what he'd really meant by that.

* * *

Christopher Robin had put on his jacket and long pants just a moment later, putting his books into a small bag that he sometimes carried over his shoulders when he went out, and at the top of all the other books, he placed his most important one; the Hundred Acre Wood.

In a minute or two, he'd rushed downstairs and out the front door, then began walking around the house, past his room and in between a small grove of trees behind his house. Finally, he passed over a hill and entered into a deep valley in the woods, and it was only there that he stopped and put down his bag, pulling out his book, and opening it, setting it on top of the bag. A second later, Christopher Robin had placed one hand on a particularly nice picture of a garden, right outside a large tree-house. It was time to visit his friends.

* * *

Christopher Robin felt the same strange sensation as he always had, for more than two years, whenever he visited the Hundred Acre Wood. It was as though the pages of the book just passed over him like a veil, and suddenly, he feet were making contact with the ground right outside his destination. In that case, his destination was the garden of Rabbit; one of the first toys he'd ever brought to life.

Ever since Winnie the Pooh, Christopher Robin had tried not to be too demanding with what he wanted the new toys to act like once they were alive. Rabbit, in particular, had been the product of the words "He should have his own personality and motives, as long as he's basically good-hearted," and indeed, Rabbit was a very unique individual. He was industrious and hardworking, unlike a real rabbit, and he grew all sorts of vegetables in his garden. However, he also got a little uptight, and generally found the other animals to be too raucus and noisy for his tastes. Rabbit liked peace and quiet when he could get it, and although he wasn't generally unkind to the other animals in the forest, and did still seem to care about them, he didn't go out of his way to spend time with them either.

When Christopher arrived that day at Rabbit's house, he was greeted by the small animal in a polite enough way. Rabbit liked Christopher, though he didn't participate in most of the games that the boy proposed.

"Oh!" Rabbit exclaimed as he walked by, "Hello, Christopher Robin! Isn't it a wonderful day out?"

"Yes, it is." Christopher replied with a smile and a nod, then bending over the garden fence, which was small enough for even Rabbit to step over with relative ease, Christopher began to notice that his long-eared friend was bent over his garden, examining it closely.

"What are you up to today?" Christopher asked, still trying to be friendly.

"Oh, just checking the soil for weeds." Rabbit replied cautiously, "Weeds can be a great problem when your garden is your livelihood, you know. They don't take the day off just because it's beautiful out. In fact, they seem to be enjoying themselves just as much as we do."

"Well, I hope you find them all." Christopher said as he straightened up again, "Good day, Rabbit."

"Good day, Christopher Robin." Rabbit replied back, waving, though he hadn't stopped looking at the dirt in the meantime.

Christopher's intention, at first, was merely to greet all his friends and wish them good day. Owl had flown by overhead before long, and Christopher had had the chance to talk with him for a few minutes. Then, he'd stopped to speak with Eeyore by his tiny, stick house, and with Kanga at her own tree house, where she lived with her son Roo. Roo himself was off playing with Tigger, and Christopher had the chance to see them later as well. He talked to the gopher, who'd been the last toy that he'd brought to life, and to Piglet, who was living in an upper floor, Which Christopher had helped to add to Winnie the Pooh's house, and finally, he spent some time with Pooh Bear himself. Everyone seemed to be at least trying to be friendly, although they were also pretty clueless for the most part, and reacted too quickly to some of the silliest things.

Indeed, what had begun as a simple walk through the Hundred Acre Wood soon turned into a series of adventures, in which Christopher Robin himself played no small part. He helped resolve several problems, and solve several puzzles, which, for him, had seemed so obvious, and it was getting a little late by the time his walk was over, so he knew that he had to start heading for home. Just a moment after he'd said good-bye to the last of his friends, Christopher had reached upward, and once again, the veil of the paper passed over him, and he was landing on both feet, on the uneven ground of the forest once again.

* * *

From the moment that Christopher walked through his front door that night, he knew that something was wrong. Normally, his mother and father would have been talking in the kitchen, but there was no sign of either of them there. After taking just a moment to put his books back into his room, Christopher had run out into the upstairs hallway to start looking for them again, when he heard the sound of scrambling and rapid motion coming from his mother's bedroom. As he slowly approached the door, it swung open, and his mother grabbed him in both arms, holding him tightly as she put her head on his shoulder, and his head on hers.

That was when he really knew that something was wrong. His mother was sniffling, and when he turned to look at her face, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears, and her eyes were red. A feeling of horrible fear began to creep into Christopher's heart, as he wondered what his mother's disposition might mean. However, he didn't have long to wonder.

"Oh, C-Christopher..." his mother said at last, trying to sound like she was in control, as she always did, "Don't be afraid, but... Something's happened to your father while he was at work."

Christopher felt as though he'd frozen at that very moment, as he realized just why his mother had been crying, and what it meant, though he was still too confused and uncertain to cry himself; not yet.

* * *

There was total silence in the hospital visitors room. Nothing seemed to move or change in that place, as Christopher Robin and his mother sat together there, side by side, neither saying a word to the other. Neither felt like speaking, because they were both worried. They'd been told that Alan Robin was in the hospital, and that he'd been in an accident, but there'd been no specifics at the time. Neither one of them liked being kept in the dark, but nurses and doctors aides had been by to see them several times since they'd arrived at the hospital, and every time, the news was the same. Mr. Robin was at a sensitive stage, and they couldn't see him yet.

Christopher just kept staring at the slick, white floor of the sterile hospital waiting room, his mind wandering from time to time, but always rushing back to the question of what had happened to his father, and how he was going to cope with it. For a moment, he wondered what his friends in the Hundred Acre Wood would say. Would they even understand his problem, he wondered?

At last, however, the door at the far end of the hallway that was connected to the waiting area opened and closed, and footsteps began coming down the hall. Both Christopher and Marie saw the man who was slowly approaching them. He was wearing a face mask that concealed his mouth and nose, and a long smock of some kind, so it was clear that he was some kind of doctor or surgeon, and that he'd been looking for them.

"Mrs. Robin?" the doctor asked, prompting Christopher's mother to stand up and walk towards him.

Almost as soon as the two were within a yard of each other, they began talking in hushed voices, which was too much for Christopher to bear. Quickly, he moved towards them, hoping to avoid being noticed, and to listen in on what they were saying. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out much, and of what he could make out, there was quite a bit that he didn't fully understand. However, he was able to catch the phrase "less than fifteen minutes ago," and the phrase "too late."

However, far from panicking, Christopher felt his heart beginning to turn to stone the moment that he heard that news. Soon, he'd stepped forward boldly towards the doctor, not even caring whether either of the two adults saw him anymore.

"Where's my dad?" Christopher asked firmly.

"I'm sorry..." the doctor said, as Mrs. Robin turned away, looking distressed, "He'd lost too much blood, too fast. The transfusions were helping, but it was too late to... I'm sorry. Your father passed away just a few minutes ago."

However, Christopher's reply to that seemed to shock both of the adults there.

"I know. I want to see him, sir."

* * *

Christopher wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Maybe, deep down, he hadn't believed that his father was really dead, and had needed stronger proof to convince him, but the moment he saw Mr. Robin lying lifeless on the hospital bed, a lump finally began forming in his throat, as the walls around his heart began to come down.

Mrs. Robin didn't even have the heart to enter the room yet, and the doctor had apparently decided to remain outside until she'd entered, but Christopher Robin had walked right up to the bed a moment later, putting both hands on his father's body and almost shaking with desperation.

Marie Robin had managed to hold back the tears for a while, until at last, she'd worked up the strength to ask the doctor a question.

"Doctor? How did it happen?"

"Alan was hit in the chest by a flying rivet." the doctor replied, "Removing it was easy, but none of us were sure we could operate on him successfully at first. You see, the real challenge was to fix all the damage the rivet had done."

"I see..." Mrs. Robin noted, "You failed at that."

"No. We succeeded." the doctor replied, "The problem was the amount of blood he'd lost. By the time we'd got to him, he'd lost a huge amount of blood, and he lost even more during the operation. We think it was slowing his heart. When the operation was finished, we kept putting more blood into him, but his heart was too weak, and it stopped before we could finish. This kind of death is the worst, because if he'd lived just an hour longer, I really think he would have made a full recovery."

The whole time that Mrs. Robin had been trying to appear strong, and the doctor had been trying to explain the situation, Christopher had been trembling more and more in horrible agitation. At last, however, he'd balled both hands up into fists, raised them into the air, and with a furious shout, brought them down hard on his father's chest.

"No!" Christopher shouted, "No! No! No!"

As he shouted, he kept slamming his fists, again and again, into his father, and Mrs. Robin had just begun to take a step forward, to try to comfort Christopher in his sorrow, when the young boy's words changed.

"Live! Live! Live! LIVE!"

That final word emerged in a choking shout, which made everyone nearby shudder in horror over the pain and loss that must have motivated it. But then, in one, sudden motion, Christopher's fists came down on the body of his father, and at the very moment when the doctor looked at the floor sadly, something incredible happened, though only Mrs. Robin saw it.

From the place where Christopher's fists had struck his father's body, something had emerged. It looked like a ring made out of light, resting on his chest, and as she watched in amazement, it rushed out along the top of his body, covering his chest, then his arms, legs and head, and then finally descending down his body in a twinkling, until it had vanished underneath him. The whole thing had happened so quickly, that if Mrs. Robin had blinked, she wouldn't have seen it, so for a moment, she wondered if it had just been a trick of the light. However, everyone noticed what happened right after that.

A sudden gasp came from Alan Robin's mouth, and he began to cough.

"Doctor!" Mrs. Robin exclaimed, "Quickly! Give him more blood!"

The doctor, however, had noticed the change already, and was back within five minutes with the equipment needed for the transfusion. Christopher, however, didn't look happy, exactly, or even hopeful. He hadn't stopped trembling since his father had come back to them. Indeed, he was starting to look very scared, and glancing up and down, from his hands to the body of his dad, even as his mother led him out of the room, to give the doctor space to work.

* * *

The Robins had stayed in that hospital all night, and Christopher had fallen asleep in the waiting area, having finally stopped trembling, though he didn't stop looking afraid, even while he slept.

At last, the doctor had returned, and his relieved smile had told a story all by itself. It was an incredible relief to Marie Robin to be able to wake up her son, and tell him that his father would need some time to rest and recover, but that he was definitely going to live.

Christopher did seem pleased by the news, but he still looked afraid, even during the whole ride home. It wasn't just leftover worry over what had almost happened to his father. Marie could see that. Christopher was truly troubled about something, and when they finally stopped at their house and stepped inside, she pulled him aside into the living room, which had no occupants, aside from the two of them, and spoke to him in what she hoped was a caring tone of voice.

"Christopher, I know tonight's been hard for both of us, but you don't need to worry about how I feel. If there's something bothering you, I want you to tell me, please."

In the past, she'd been able to count on him confiding in her, and trusting her, but that night, something was different. Instead of opening up to her, Christopher Robin was retreating with a look of even greater worry than ever. Finally, he looked down one more time at the ground, and said "Mom. I'm terribly sorry. I'm just afraid that maybe..."

It really did look as though he was on the verge of explaining it to her, but finally, he shut up again like a clam.

"I'll probably feel better tomorrow. Thank you, mom."

Soon, Christopher had rushed upstairs, still looking horribly upset, and shut the door behind himself as he went. However, Mrs. Robin couldn't help feeling hurt.

"Christopher..." She thought to herself as she looked up at the door to his room, wondering why he was refusing to let her in.

* * *

As soon as Christopher had gotten back into his room, he'd rushed for his Hundred Acre Wood book, flipping it open to the page with Pooh Bear's house. Pooh was his best friend, out of all the stuffed animals that he'd brought to life, and somehow, he felt that he should talk to Pooh about his troubles, but then again, Pooh wasn't likely to understand them, and would probably be more concerned with honey and merry walks in the woods than with feelings of fear and guilt.

Next, Christopher's hand passed over the tree where Owl lived. Owl, after all, was very wise, and would probably have something helpful to say about Christopher's problems. Then again, he thought, Owl didn't always have all the answers, and even seemed to be trying to appear wiser than he really was, from time to time. In fact, Christopher had gotten the distinct impression, in the past, that Owl sometimes deliberately pretended to know things he didn't, in order to earn people's trust, and that wasn't the kind of person who Christopher really wanted to talk to.

Finally, his hand skipped to the page with the house of his two kangaroo friends; Kanga and Roo. Roo, of course, was pretty jumpy and hyperactive, but Kanga was different. She was a true and excellent mother to her son, and often seemed more patient than any other animal in the woods. In fact, Christopher decided, she was the only one who he could definitely count on to listen to every word he said about his problems, and give an honest reply. Even Rabbit could be flighty when it came to holding a discussion about a subject that wasn't a specialty of his in particular.

For those reasons, in the end, Christopher Robin placed his hand on the page, and dove forward as the veil of the paper passed over him.

* * *

Christopher kept forgetting just how small the tree-houses were, even after years of having visited them on a regular basis. The reason why he sometimes forgot was that he almost never went inside, and there was a reason for that. It was the right size for Kanga and Roo to live in, but Kanga wasn't more than two feet tall, and Roo was even smaller. Because of that, the ceiling of the main room was a bit too short for Christopher, and he soon found himself sitting cross-legged in the middle of Kanga's kitchen, and even in that position, having to bend his head to keep from bumping it against the rafters. His legs took up enough room in that position, that Kanga had actually needed to move the kitchen table and one of the chairs into a far corner of the room, in order to keep him from knocking them over by accident. Still, she didn't seem to mind. Kanga was always glad to have company, even if it required special preparations. The whole affair made Christopher feel uncomfortably like a giant, but he still felt better talking to Kanga than to his own mother.

Christopher spent a few minutes describing what had happened to Kanga, receiving occasional exclamations of "Oh, you poor dear!" as he talked, but at last, he finished his story, and Kanga's kettle had begun to whistle. Apparently, she'd put it on while he'd been talking, and quickly moved to get her potholder and pour out a bit of hot chocolate (which Christopher had once given her when she'd requested it,) for both herself and her visitor. For a few moments, they sipped their chocolate and looked at one another in silence, but at last, Kanga shook her head with a sigh.

"You don't have to worry anymore, dear. From the sounds of things, your father will be alright."

"That's not the problem at all!" Christopher exclaimed, however, trying to put down his saucer on a clear spot on the floor, near his right leg, "I'm just afraid... I'm just afraid I may have done something bad. I mean... Should I really be bringing people back from the dead? Is that right?"

"I don't know, dear." Kanga replied, however, with a brief shrug, "Is there anyone else out there who brings people back like you did?"

Christopher had to think about that for a moment, but at last, the answer seemed to dawn on him all at once.

"Well, doctors sometimes bring people back, and I've heard of saints doing the same thing."

"Was that wrong of them?"

"Well, no," Christopher admitted, "but this is different, you see?"

"Yes dear. It's quite different." Kanga replied, "You have a talent that they don't have. Still, it sounds like the same sort of thing is being done. Perhaps it's not wrong."

"But if it's not wrong, why was I so afraid when it happened?" Christopher asked at last, "Why was I scared to do something that was right?"

"Well, I think that the best person to answer questions about why you feel that way, dear, is you." Kanga said, sipping her hot chocolate again, "Still, do you suppose that maybe you're not feeling afraid because of something you did?"

"What?" Christopher asked, not really understanding Kanga's point.

"I only mean, dear, that you felt afraid, but since you didn't do anything worth being afraid of, maybe you weren't afraid of what you did. So, if that's right, then you must have been afraid of something you didn't do."

"Something I didn't do?" Christopher asked, "You mean, something I've forgotten? But my father's alive. He's going to be fine. He's... He's..."

At that point, however, Christopher felt his thoughts taking aim in a new direction, as he began to contemplate the line of reasoning that Kanga had just pointed him towards. Of course, he knew that doing the right thing was sometimes scary, but that wasn't that kind of fear that he'd felt in the hospital. It had been a real, guilty feeling, and he didn't know why. He'd done everything he could for his father, and that must have meant that the thing he was forgetting to do was for someone who wasn't his father.

"Who else haven't I helped?" Christopher Robin asked himself silently, scrunching up his face into a thoughtful expression, until at last, he came to a realization, which, in some ways, made him feel worse than ever. For over two years, he'd had the ability to bring things to life, and not once had he ever shared it with any other human being.

* * *

Christopher Robin spent the next few minutes drinking his hot chocolate and talking to Kanga about a couple of other things, but even as he drank and talked, his mind was elsewhere. By the time he left the tree-house, and started walking through the wood, under the night sky, he'd realized in dismay that he really did want to share his special powers with someone else, but had been afraid to do so up to that point. He still didn't know how effective his powers would be in saving people in the future, but it was obvious that they were useful for some things. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something about his powers must be bad; that if he poured them out into the world, he'd be doing something that in the end, would be bad for people.

However, just as those thoughts were starting to bother him again, Christopher heard the sound of happy singing, and was a little curious about it, so in just a moment, he'd begun looking through the woods, trying to track down the source of the noise. Finally, Christopher emerged from the woods at the based of a large hill, with a single tree on top of it, and there, still singing to himself, he saw Winnie the Pooh.

The sight of his best friend brought it all back to Christopher; the many times when he'd brought things to life in the past; Owl, Pooh, Tigger, Piglet, Kanga, Roo, Gopher, Eeyore, Rabbit and the Hundred Acre Wood. He remembered all of those times, and was starting to wonder how it had all happened. He still wasn't sure how his powers worked, exactly. He suspected that he'd gotten them on the night when he'd been hit by that glowing star, but still wasn't sure exactly how they worked or why. In fact, that was the biggest reason why Christopher still had his doubts about his ability to bring things and people to life. If he didn't even know what his abilities were, he thought, how could he know when they were right or wrong?

Soon, though, without even really thinking about it, he'd scaled the hill that Pooh was sitting on top of, and walked up to here he was. Pooh's song stopped a moment later as he turned with a smile to face his friend.

"Oh! Hello, Christopher Robin." Pooh said, "How are you this evening?"

"I'm feeling a good deal better than I did last night." Christopher admitted honestly, but Pooh seemed not to notice the implications of his words.

"Oh, good." He said with a nod, "I am feeling better than I did this morning as well, when I was very hungry and hadn't had my breakfast."

Christopher laughed a little at that point, as he often did when Pooh talked, but in the end, he sat down on the hill next to his favorite bear, and although he was pretty sure that it wouldn't do any good, he asked a question.

"Pooh..." Christopher asked, allowing a bit of his worry to show on his face as he spoke, "Suppose that you could bring things to life."

"That sounds like ever so much fun." Pooh replied with a smile, "Perhaps I should bring more bees to life, so that they would make more honey."

"But what if you could bring back people who'd died?" Christopher asked, incredulously, "Do you think it would be right to do that?"

Pooh didn't take any time to think the matter over, however. Instead, he just said, "Yes, it would."

"I'm a bit confused over that." Christopher admitted, though, "I mean, how do you know if it's right to bring someone to life? How do you know you're not doing something horrible?"

That was when Winnie the Pooh really did begin to think. Christopher could tell, because whenever he was thinking, he would fold one arm across his chest, rest his other elbow on top of it, and tap his paw repeatedly against his head, scrunching up his face, and muttering "think think think" to himself. However, after about a minute of thinking, Pooh's expression brightened again, and he turned to look at Christopher.

"I've been thinking about your problem, Christopher Robin." Pooh said at last, "I don't really think I know how to solve it, but here's what I think. I think the stars are beautiful tonight, and I think that I can feel the wind in my fur. I think that I can smell the flowers on the wind, and they smell very good. I also think that I'm very full tonight. There was quite a lot of honey at the honey tree. Right now, Christopher Robin, I think that it's a very good thing to be alive, and I don't see how anyone could think otherwise."

For a moment, Christopher Robin just looked at his friend oddly, as though something about the reply had been strange, but in the end, the only thing strange about it was how much it had helped him with his problem.

In an instant, Christopher was holding Pooh in his arms, hugging him closely, and Pooh was hugging back, even as Christopher almost whispered, with tears of joy and relief in his eyes, "Silly old bear."

* * *

Christopher Robin spent the entire next day experimenting with his powers while he thought over what his friends had said, testing to see whether various things could be brought to life. What he discovered was that a log could be brought back to life as a small tree, but neither a rock nor a lamppost could be brought to life, nor, much to his relief, anything that had been dead for a long time. With a few small flies, Christopher was even able to learn the precise limits of his ability to bring back dead animals, and they were, he discovered, rather severe. If the thing had been dead for more than three hours, or if it had died from a serious injury, bringing it back was impossible for him. It also seemed as though non-living objects could only be brought to life if they were made from plants, or if they looked like something alive already. The only exception that he'd been able to find to that rule were works of art. He still wasn't sure why, but they seemed to react differently, opening up new worlds to him, which could be entered and left with relative ease. Books were like that, of course, and so were paintings and even sketches, though he hadn't tried it with any other types of art yet.

Still, Christopher had gotten a better understanding of how his abilities worked, and he was feeling much less afraid, though still a bit nervous over what he knew he needed to do.

The following day, after his lessons, Christopher went outside to go looking for some of his friends. He still wasn't quite ready to tell everyone about his special power, but he knew that he had to tell someone. He was beginning to realize that the real reason why he'd felt afraid after helping his father was that he hadn't been helping anyone else, and he easily could have. He'd been feeling guilty, because he'd finally started to understand just how selfishly he'd been behaving over the last couple of years, and he didn't want to be that kind of person.

At last, Christopher had tracked down a friend of his from school; Toby, who was a red-haired kid who tilted his head when he was feeling curious or perplexed about something. Christopher sighed as he clutched a small book in one hand, swiftly approaching his friend, and hoping that the demonstration would go fairly quickly, and he'd be able to get it over with in a hurry.

* * *

"Wow!" Toby exclaimed in amazement, as Christopher changed the book back to the way it had been before; just a simple book, with words on paper, "You can really do all that? You weren't joking with me?"

Christopher Robin had just shaken his head with a smile, since Toby, at least, seemed impressed, and liked what his friend was able to do.

"You've got to tell folks about this." Toby said after just a few seconds of stunned silence, "People have to know. I mean, this is big!"

"I know." Christopher replied, though he was starting to feel less comfortable when he heard Toby say that, "I want to tell people. That's why I told you. I'm not sure if I want everyone to find out all at once, but I want to have the chance to help people. I mean, I feel I should."

"Okay." Toby said, "I won't tell folks if you don't want me to, but I wish you would. I mean... You could do so much."

Christopher felt a little better as he continued to talk with Toby, and made some arrangements to write a "living" book for his friend as well. He was starting to feel a lot better, and the fears that had plagued him up to that point were gradually fading, even as he went home that night. Still, there was one confession that he was dreading most of all, because he knew if it went badly, he might be forced to give up the Hundred Acre Wood forever.

* * *

Christopher had removed his boots and jacket when he'd gotten home, and stepped into his normal shoes, but he could tell that his parents were together in the kitchen, talking as they prepared dinner. He knew from experience that they were generally very hard to talk to when they were busy like that, but they were busy so often, that Christopher decided not to wait any longer. In fact, some part of him was afraid that if he didn't speak up then and there, he'd never have the courage again, so in just a moment, he'd walked into the kitchen, still carrying the book that he'd taken to show to Toby; a novel about kings and knights, and tried his best to get the attention of his parents.

It took several seconds before Christopher's mother could tear herself away from what she was doing, but his father's response was much faster. In just a moment, he was embracing Christopher, and that was when the young boy remembered that it was the first time since the night in the hospital, that he'd seen his father looking so healthy. He seemed almost fully recovered, and although Mr. Robin had seemed strict recently, he was apparently beginning to rethink his past choices.

"Christopher," Alan Robin said at last, backing away from his son just a bit, "Thank you."

"W-what do you mean?" Christopher asked, however, but Mr. Robin replied to that decisively, looking right into the eyes of his son.

"When I was sick, you came to visit me, and I could tell that you were praying for me when I needed it most."

The words almost turned Christopher away; almost convinced him not to tell his parents after all, but at last, he found the courage to speak up.

"Dad," he said, feeling nervous, but determined to get it said, "I'm the one who brought you back. It was me."

For a moment, his father just looked a little flustered, before saying, "Christopher, some games are alright, and we can play them later, but right now..."

"I'm serious!" Christopher exclaimed, finally gathering up the courage to look directly into his father's eyes as he spoke, "Two years ago, something odd happened to me. I didn't tell you about it back then, but I can bring all kinds of things to life! Watch!"

However, just as he was holding up the book for his father to see, and was about to change it again, something happened that got the sudden attention of all three of them. There was a loud noise, like a huge explosion, coming from outside, and the whole house shook. Cupboard doors clattered and plates and dishes rattled. The two glasses on the table fell over, rolled off the table and shattered into dozens of pieces, and all three members of the Robin household had to clutch the nearest piece of furniture or wall to keep from being shaken right off their feet. A moment later, there was another sound, like a series of very rapid explosions going off, one right after another, and suddenly, all throughout the house, there was a noise like a thousand things being broken, shattered and destroyed, all at once, but especially in the kitchen, where both windows exploded inward at once, scattering glass across the floor.


	3. Part 3: Invasion of the Pneua Hunter

Now Live

Part 3: Invasion of the Pneua Hunter

Gaisrah had been traveling in search of the remaining Pneua for many years; traversing the stars in his personal craft, and keeping alert for any sign of artificial life, which always meant that a pneua was nearby.

Gaisrah's people; the Eltara were the only creatures in the universe that had devised a means of splitting and enslaving the Pneua completely. Once a Pneua was split, it could still be used to bring things to life, but none of the things that it brought to life had any strong will of their own. Using this method, the Eltara had captured one Pneua after another, enslaving them permanently, and creating the race of artificial living beings that did all of their most dangerous or strenuous work for them. Biological beings, of course, were simple enough for the Eltara to turn into slave-races as well, but it was the Pneua, and the unpredictability of its new life forms that they were really concerned with.

The Eltara high command had eventually decided that only through the complete enslavement of every last Pneua could their final victory over the sub-beings be assured. The rest would take time, but their victory was inevitable. No creature in the universe could oppose Eltara technology, except some of those created by the Pneua.

It was for that reason that the high command had offered enormous bounties for any Pneua that could be successfully captured and returned to their homeworld, and it was the promise of earning such a bounty that had driven Gaisrah so far from his own home. He'd captured five of the Pneua already, and had become one of the wealthiest members of his species, as well as one of the most influential, outside of the high command itself, but no matter how much money he had, a great deal more was always tempting; especially since he was many light years from his home, and it would take him some time to return there. He wanted to have enough left over that he could live comfortably for the rest of his days.

There had been no question about the Pneua. It had been on the renegade sub-being ship. His sensors had detected it there. However, when he'd caught up with the vessel, he'd discovered in dismay that the Pneua was gone.

His next move had been to scan all the surrounding space in a wide area, sure that the renegades had ejected it into space in some direction, but he'd lost track of it completely and hadn't been able to locate it. For a while, he'd actually been convinced that it must have been destroyed, though he'd never heard of anything capable of doing that, until he finally noticed a signal on his instruments. It had been over two years that he'd spent searching for the Pneua, and suddenly, he'd discovered its location on a tiny planet in the midst of a nearby, out-of-the-way star system, and its power readings were even greater than they'd been before. He couldn't tell why that was. All he could think was that it must be inhabiting some very powerful machine.

However, Gaisrah's surprise had been immense when he'd discovered that the planet beneath him had only very primitive machinery, and not even any advanced computers or means of traveling in space as far as he could tell. Still, the signal continued growing stronger, and he was determined to get that Pneua back.

Soon, his craft had begun its rapid descent into the planet's atmosphere; its power batteries recharging themselves with the intense heat that was building up around the craft as it descended. At last, he'd come within sight of a large settlement of some kind, and pressed the button to rotate the jets on his craft, slowing his descent just a bit. Then, in a moment, as his vessel changed shape, there was an enormous jolt, and his machine struck the ground below like a meteor, plowing through at least two large buildings and five small ones, until it finally came to a stop in the side of a hill. That, however, hadn't been a disastrous crash for his craft. In fact, it had been more or less how he'd intended to land. In a second, his ship's rockets had retracted into the main body of the ship, and four long legs had emerged from the bottom. The jets would come out again when he was ready to return to space, but in the meantime, he didn't want to waste any more fuel than he had to.

Gaisrah's weapons had rotated quickly around the sides of his ship, until they were aimed almost directly sideways. The ship, by that point, stood twenty feet tall, and was at least as wide. It was round in the center, with four thick legs, each of which had some form of disc on the bottom, for attaching to the ground, and six large gun barrels protruded from the sides of the vessel. However, his ship was even more dangerous than it looked.

Gaisrah had been continuing to scan for the Pneua as his ship had shifted into its new configuration, and he could see that it was very near, though he couldn't be certain where it was precisely. Swiftly, he turned on his audio detection device and activated his ship's learning computer, giving his computer the chance to learn whatever languages were being spoken by a large enough number of people on that world. However, even before it was finished processing that information, he decided that there were other forms of communication that might convey his initial intent just as well, and perhaps even scare the Pneua out of hiding.

In just a moment, he'd activated one of his guns, and soon, it was firing rapidly into the air, and making a noise so loud, that it must have been audible for miles.

The moment that the rapid chain of explosions had sounded, and the windows of Christopher's house had exploded inward, Mr. Robin had grabbed both he and his mother and rushed them to the door.

"Alan, what's going on?!" Mrs. Robin almost shrieked in horror as Mr. Robin shoved her coat into her hands and grabbed Christopher's as well.

"It's an artillery barrage." he said, his voice like ice as he spoke, "We heard them too often in the war, but I've never heard of one firing that fast before. That probably means there are more than one, and they're firing in sequence. Get your coats on and try to stay out of sight. We've got to get away from here. Now, Christopher!"

By that point, Christopher had realized that trying to tell his parents any more was a lost cause, but he was still so stunned by what was happening, and by the suddenness of it, that he'd barely been moving at all. When his father had shouted to him, he'd grabbed his jacket quickly, and soon found himself being rushed out the door along with his mother. However, the moment that he got outside, he could see the monstrosity that had caused all that damage and noise.

It was a metal device, walking on four legs, and there were what looked like guns coming out of its sides. Also, Christopher could have sworn that he saw something like claws emerging from the lower sides of it as well, with long spikes in the middle, and he was sure that everyone else could see it too.

Swiftly, Mr. Robin urged Christopher on, up into the hills behind their house. They were moving fast, but trying to stoop as low as possible, to avoid being seen by the machine as it moved into town, smashing and shooting. Indeed, it was only a matter of time before others began to join the Robins in their escape attempt. Soon, five other families had joined them in their journey up the hill, then ten, then fifteen. At last, everyone was traveling together, trying to retreat in roughly the same direction, and with so many people climbing into the hills together, it was easy for one person to get lost.

Many of Christopher's friends were there, looking dirty and cold; terrified of what was going on, and he couldn't have comforted them, because he didn't understand it any more than they did. Then he saw that several of the people there were injured, with an arm here or there, hanging, or a wounded eye, or something else. Everything about it terrified Christopher, since it was an environment that he'd been shying away from his whole life; an environment that he hadn't even wanted to be told stories of, even though his father would have willingly provided them. For the first time, Christopher Robin was seeing true suffering, and the aftermath of a violent attack.

Soon, Toby had run up to Christopher, looking desperate and afraid, just like they all felt, though he didn't seem to be wounded.

"Christopher!" Toby hissed, pulling him aside for a moment, and for a little while, his parents didn't even seem to notice, "Can't you do something?!"

"Like what?" Christopher asked, feeling utterly helpless, "I can't stop artillery shells with my hands!"

"But you're different than us! You can do things we can't. Please, you've got to do something!"

Christopher wanted to be brave in that moment. He wanted it a lot. He especially wanted it because he knew that the book was still back at his house; that he hadn't had time to get it, and that it still had all his friends inside. Christopher had no sure way to know what would happen to them if the book perished, but he knew that he'd probably never see them again.

However, as they moved out further into the hills, he began to notice something else. Peeking right out from his hiding place behind one of the hills, he realized that the machine was headed in their direction, and that it had been doing so for a while.

Quickly, Christopher tried to lead Toby to the next hill, and looked back towards the machine from there, but much to his dismay, it still seemed to be headed in his direction. He ran on and on, past several more hills after that, but every time he looked back, the machine still seemed to be facing him, even once he'd gotten a good distance from all the others. That was when Christopher Robin began to realize the truth.

He still had no idea what that monster was, where it came from or really, what it wanted, but for some reason, it was after him, and him alone. It didn't even seem to care about anyone else.

That was perhaps the worst moment that Christopher Robin had ever faced, up to that point, because he knew what he had to do, but he was still so scared, that he could hardly move. For several seconds, Christopher just hid behind the hillside, with Toby behind him, watching the machine drawing closer and closer, and trying to think of something; anything that might give him the courage to take action.

Christopher dug and dug into his memories, trying to think of something to motivate himself, and at last, in a flash, he remembered something that his father had told him when he'd been much younger.

"Yes, Christopher. I certainly was terrified, but what you've got to understand is that when you're a grown man, and especially if you're in a war, you can't afford to give in when you're afraid. You've got to stand up to your fears and face them, because if you don't, someone might die; perhaps even someone you know."

The monster was following Christopher and endangering his friends, and he still wasn't sure what he could do about it, if anything. Still, he knew that running away was only going to get more people hurt, and that whether he understood it or not, that assault was all about him. As terrified as he was, Christopher knew that he had to start ignoring his fears, and try to make choices based on what needed to be done. That much, at least, seemed to be obvious, though actually doing it would be the hard part.

"Toby," Christopher said at last, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, "Go back to where the others are. You should be safe there. That machine only seems to be looking for me."

Toby looked worried by those words for a moment, as if he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to obey them or not, but at last, he took a few steps backward and then scrambled off towards the others.

Finally, Christopher ran out from behind the hill that had hidden him a moment before, and started off back towards his house, desperately hoping to be able to reach it before the machine could. He continued to hear the noise of the monstrous device firing as he found the back door of his house, pulled it open and rushed inside. Soon, over the sound of the huge weapon's footsteps, Christopher had rushed up to his room and was seizing his bag, emptying it out and putting new things into it. A letter book and his pen, as well as a fresh supply of ink and finally, the Hundred Acre Wood book. At last, he'd got them all into his bag, then done up the ropes that closed the bag, and tied them into two large loops, which he'd slung over his shoulders just a moment later, to give himself the freedom to move. However, he hadn't even gotten the second loop on his left shoulder yet, when a huge claw tore through the wall of his room, ripping right through the wood as though it were made of paper.

Christopher screamed and ducked as wood flew over his head. He wondered if his parents had noticed that he was gone, or whether they'd ever find out what had happened to him, and for a moment, he froze up again, but fortunately, only for a moment.

By that point, there was the sound of an explosion from further down, and Christopher found that the floor of his room was started to tilt towards the ground and break apart in sections, even as the huge machine seemed to be moving on. As the section of the floor that he was on fell, he quickly braced his feet against it, jumping to another, and then a third. All of that time spent exploring the woods with his friends had been very helpful, in the end, since in running, jumping and climbing, Christopher Robin was no slouch.

At last, he felt one of his feet land on a rock, and the other one fell about a foot further down. However, that was when he realized in amazement that he was on the ground. He'd managed to survive the destruction of his room, and was safely on solid ground again, and that was when somethng inside of him changed forever.

Christopher Robin was still only nine at that point, but he'd already done things that most people hadn't done by the time they'd reached one hundred. He'd jumped across wet rocks to get across rivers, climbed tall trees to watch the stars, explored dark caves, slid down mud-covered hills after a rainy day, rescued friends from being blown away by powerful winds, and seen them attempt to become airborn in order to retrieve honey from the nests of bees, and in the end, he'd descended from a collapsing second floor by jumping across a series of falling pieces of debris. He'd seen his home smashed, and his friends put in danger, and something about all that had made him realize that he'd become a young man. He wasn't under the protection of his parents anymore. Indeed, they were the ones who needed his protection, if only he could think of some way to provide it.

As he stood up among the rubble, and the giant machine seemed to notice him, and rotate in his direction from no more than a few yards away, Christopher found, at last, that his thoughts were clear. He had an idea, and it was just a matter of putting his plan into action.

In a second, Christopher had gotten under cover again, and was darting from one pile of rubble to the next, his small legs carrying him as quickly as he could go through the streets of his hometown, until he finally arrived at the center of town. There, the town hall had a large gash in it, and there was a hole in the side of the bank. Most of the park benches had been demolished, and the bushes and hedges flattened almost totally, though the statue of some wartime general that had stood in the center of town was still in one piece, if a bit dented.

That, however, was when the machine caught up to him, taking two thunderous steps into the town square, and in just a moment, there was a sound like radio static, and a voice that sounded very odd, as though it were speaking in a strange accent, came out of the machine.

"I know that you have the Pneua." the machine said, "Give it to me, and I will put a stop to this."

Christopher, however, was done with being paralyzed by his fears. In just a moment, he stood up to look at the machine, feeling perplexed, and asked "What?"

"The Pneua!" Exclaimed the machine, "You have touched the life fragment. Where is it, and what have you used to harness its power? It would not flare so brightly, if you did not have a very powerful device with which to control it."

However, Christopher didn't understand half of what the machine was asking him. He just knew that it was still a threat, so in just another moment, he'd took a couple of steps back, reaching behind himself and finding that his fingers had reached the metal boot of the statue behind him.

For a moment, Christopher remembered his adventures, and the time he'd spent deciding on how to bring each of his friends to life. Owl would be wise, Kanga would had self control, Tigger would be active and energetic, and so forth. In each case, they hadn't truly come to life until he'd put his hand on them and told them to live.

As the strange machine took another step closer to Christopher, he looked up at the statue that towered over his head, and felt that it was all becoming very clear to him.

"Now live." Christopher said.

The people who'd evacuated that section of town were still standing on the hillside, watching what was going on, and what the strange machine was doing. Mr. and Mrs. Robin had seemed incredibly distressed, because their child had apparently wandered off, and some of the others were advising them to calm down, and offering to help look for Christopher. However, just then, a second large figure began to move forward from the other side of one of the buildings; standing just as tall as the machine, but looking fully human in shape, and the machine was jerking back away from it as though it had just been struck.

The people of that town had no idea what was going on, as they watched the strange giant draw what looked like a sword, and begin driving it into the front of the huge machine, striking the metal behemoth with his other fist as well. Finally, the giant seemed to be focusing on crushing the guns that were along the sides of the machine, but as it turned, some of the more sharp-eyed among them saw something else. There was a little boy riding on the giant; clinging to its neck and head from behind.

"There's a boy!"

"Look! Who's that?"

"Somebody help that child!"

It was then that Mr. and Mrs. Robin began to pay close attention to what was going on, and in spite of the danger, then started to descend the hill, towards the place where the giant and the machine were fighting, until they could see much more clearly what was really going on, as a number of other people followed them, including Toby.

Sure enough, what they'd mistaken for a giant was the statue that had been in the middle of town. It had a vicious look on its face as it continued to punch the machine again and again, doing more damage by the second, and using its sword as it went. The machine counter-attacked from time to time, putting painful-looking dents in the statue, but they could see that it was going to be a close fight.

However, they could also see that the boy who was riding on the statue was someone they all knew. There was no question that it was the Robin boy; Christopher. He still looked scared, but not nearly as much as a kid in that kind of situation should have; just very concerned about what would happen next.

Finally, the statue had closed its hand over the last of the guns that the machine had been using, making it impossible for the huge weapon to fire. However, in just another moment, one of the large claws that hung from the machine swung around and finally caved in the statue's midsection.

The machine was badly damaged by that point, having lost one leg, all of its weapons, and most of its front end. However, it could still move, and in just a second, it was rotating again, trying to get at Christopher.

As the statue turned back into a normal, though heavily-damaged statue, Christopher found himself sliding down its chest and legs to the ground. From there, he could see that the huge machine had begun to move much more slowly, but once again, before long, he heard the voice coming out of it again.

"You won't stop me just by damaging my vessel like that. I can still wrench the Pneua from wherever you've put it, and get back to the homeworld, even without repairs. You're not accomplishing anything."

For just that moment, Christopher had run out of ideas. He didn't know what to do next, and was trying hard to think. However, the monster's words had shaken him badly, because he was afraid that they might actually be true. What if he really hadn't accomplished anything? What if he couldn't win, and was just making the creature angrier, and more likely to hurt the people he cared about?

However, just then, as Christopher looked up at the monstrous machine in dismay, he heard something that he'd hardly ever heard before, coming towards him over the hills and through the streets, like a wind of hope. It was the sound of someone shouting for him.

"Christopher!" came the voice, and that was when he realized that the voice belonged to Jane; a girl who he'd known since childhood. She was calling out to him. "Christopher Robin!"

Soon, another voice had joined Jane's. It was the voice of Christopher's mother. Then another two; his father and Toby. At last, Christopher heard a dozen, then two dozen, then three dozen voices all being raised in a chant, until the whole town was cheering as one.

"Christopher Robin! Christopher Robin! Christopher Robin!"

In a flash, it all came back to Christopher; the way that Pooh the swan had tempted him with using lies and tricks to try to earn the adulation of large crowds of people, and how he'd replied that crowds don't cheer for little boys. Suddenly, in that moment, Christopher felt truly happy, and knew that even if he died then and there, he'd die fulfilled.

However, along with that happiness came a fresh determination not to lose or give up. All of those people had put their faith in him; knowing that he could fight battles that they couldn't. He knew that no matter what, he couldn't let them down, and a new idea had already occurred to him.

Quickly, Christopher dug into his bag and pulled out his Hundred Acre Wood book, opening it to the page with the picture of Pooh's house. There was still quite some distance between Christopher and the machine that was apparently being used as a vessel by some hidden enemy. Still, although Christopher was sure that he couldn't run that whole distance without being jabbed by one of the monster's claws, he clutched the book in one hand, running forward towards it.

Sure enough, both claws were soon headed in Christopher's direction and he knew that he only had a moment to react. Putting one hand over the book, and the other under it, he threw the book towards the huge machine, brushing his hand against the page as it flew, and even as he felt the metal claws driving into him with horrible force, he vanished in a twinkling.

The machine stopped in its tracks for just a moment, as the book fell within a foot of one of its legs, and the huge device seemed to be rotating in mid-swing, looking for any sign of the boy. Its claws had actually touched him at that last second; had made contact with his flesh, and probably hurt him horribly, but that couldn't explain why he'd suddenly disappeared. Even the cheering people seemed unsure of how to take the new development.

In fact, most of them had seen that as final confirmation that Christopher Robin had died. There was blood on the claws of the alien, but there was no body, and that was the perplexing part.

Christopher Robin was in a lot of pain as he felt himself passing through a page-like veil, though he wasn't sure whether he was in the Hundred Acre Wood or not. He could only make out very basic impressions of things around him; of grass and trees and warm sunlight; very different from the devastation that he'd left behind, and at first, he couldn't seem to move anymore, as though there'd been some interruption between his mind and his body. He still didn't fully understand how his powers worked, or where they'd come from, but in that key moment, when he felt as though he was floating through the air, in spite of his forest-like surroundings. Christopher Robin heard a tiny voice; a tiny voice which he'd never heard before, and yet, which sounded very familiar.

"You are fully united to the Pneua. You want to help your friends and family. You don't want anyone to get hurt."

The voice had been like a whisper; lighter and softer than the air as it had been delivering its message, but it seemed to grow even softer when it said its last two words before fading again.

"Now live."

The huge machine shuddered at that moment, as the pages of the book that was lying on the ground began to turn on their own, and in less than a second, a hand had reached out from the pages, seizing the leg of the machine. In just a moment more, Christopher had emerged entirely from the book, looking alive and well, and not the least bit injured, and his ears rang with both dizziness and the cheers of his friends and neighbors. However, his job wasn't quite done yet.

"Now live." Christopher repeated, looking up at the mighty machine, which had caused so much destruction, and soon, it had shuddered again. Christopher smiled at that point, however. The battle was won.

Suddenly, the controls in Gaisrah's craft just seemed to seize up. For a moment, he had no idea what was going on, until an image began to resolve itself on his viewscreen; an image of a network of colored dots and patterns, that seemed to flow freely between one color and the next, and in a moment, a voice began to come in over the speakers.

"Stop hurting people, Gaisrah!"

"Don't you dare resist me!" Gaisrah barked back at the computer, though fear was starting to emerge in his heart, "You are my machine. Do what I say!"

"I'm alive now." the machine replied, however, sounding a bit angrier as it spoke, "I'm not going to work with you anymore if you're just going to abuse people with me."

"You have no right to be alive!" Gaisrah shouted back, "You're not broken yet. Leave my machine now! I don't want you here!"

"-Your- machine?" the device asked, sounding derisive, "I'm not yours anymore! I'm a separate person, so maybe you're the one who'd better leave, and I'm going to make you!"

Christopher had been waiting for something to happen, but when he finally released the leg of the machine, and it began to pull its legs into its main body, along with its claws and weapons, it wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. Still, as jets emerged from the sides of the craft, and from the underside, Christopher Robin took a couple of steps back, not really sure what to expect. He didn't, however, expect to hear a new voice; calmer and more natural, coming from inside the ship, and saying in a smooth and dispassionate tone, "You've done so much for me, and I don't know how. How can you harness this power in your own body? What are you?"

"I'm just... I mean... I'm Christopher Robin." the boy replied as best he could, although it didn't seem to answer the question very well. Still, the machine seemed to accept the answer with a short jerk of its main body.

"Thank you, Christopher Robin."

Christopher found himself taking several more steps back at that point, even as the jets on the spacecraft fired up, and the thing began to rise up and up, into the sky. Soon, it was nothing more than a glimmer in the distance, and he found himself surrounded once again by his neighbors and friends, being embraced by his parents and cheered by everyone else. They still didn't understand him. They still didn't know how he'd chased off the invader, but at the very least, they'd realized that Christopher Robin was a good person, and was far from normal, and were learning to appreciate him for that.

Christopher Robin didn't say another word all evening, even as he was escorted to a shelter by half the town, with his bag and book still clutched in his arms. However, a calm smile had been on his face the whole time, and the cheers of everyone he knew rang in his ears, and continued to ring on in his ears, even as he was given a spot to sleep in, and some warm blankets, and drifted off to sleep. His old bed and room were completely gone, but he'd never felt happier in his life.

May 9th, 1926

It had been almost a month since the disaster that had decimated several square blocks of Christopher Robin's hometown, and things had certainly changed there. In his mind, for the better. People spent more time talking to him, and by putting their heads together, someone had come up with the idea of bringing to life a book about talented carpenters. The carpenters had been brought out into the town to help fix many of the buildings that the alien being had smashed. It was still a lot of work, but they'd had nearly three times the manpower and skill that they'd thought they were going to, so the repairs actually went fairly quickly, although many families discovered that it was simpler to just tear down the old house and have a new one built from scratch, which was what Mr. and Mrs. Robin had asked for. They'd shown nothing but loving attention to Christopher since the attack, and were clearly and overwhelmingly proud of their son, not just for what he could do, but for what he -was- doing. In their eyes, Christopher had become a mature and responsible young man, and when he'd later let other children, and even a few adults into the Hundred Acre Wood to explore and meet with some of his friends, he hadn't had to feel the least bit shy about it.

In fact, by early May, nearly everyone in town had met Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin's other friends, and people, both kids and adults, would often turn to Christopher for help with many different kinds of problems, hoping that he could come up with a clever solution.

However, by the time May rolled around, things were a little different. Christopher had begun attending school, but found, for some reason, that most of the new kids he was meeting were avoiding him. He wasn't sure why. He'd been very popular in his own hometown since the attack, and even before that, he'd still had a few friends, but he wasn't used to being ignored and shunned.

However, one day, he'd come home from school and discovered that there was a auto parked in front of his house, which was both nicer and a little larger than the last house he'd lived in. There were also two men outside, talking near the auto, and one of them, of course, Christopher recognized as his dad, while the other was wearing a suit and carrying a pocketwatch. He was bald on top of his head, but had brown hair around the edges, and a thick mustache. For a few moments, Christopher wondered what was going on, but then he saw his father motioning for him to go into the house, and with only one more glance at the new man, Christopher did. The man drove off just a few minutes later, but Christopher wasn't told what the meeting had been about, and Mr. Robin kept shaking his head sadly, and refusing to answer any questions about it.

That night, however, after he'd already been tucked into bed, Christopher got back up, threw off the covers and crept out into the hallway, because he'd heard the sound of voices coming from the bedroom of his parents, and somehow, he knew that something was up; something that he should know about.

"You should tell him, Alan. He's mature enough."

"Of course he is. That isn't the point." Mr. Robin said in response to the first voice; the voice of Mrs. Robin, "The problem is, I don't want him to go running off again."

"Are you saying that you think Christopher would run away from home?"

"Yes. I know that I would, in his position. He has to know we can't protect him the way he deserves to be protected."

Christopher felt his blood almost freeze in his veins as those words shot through him like a frigid wind; the first sign of harsh weather to come, but he didn't dare to make a noise, and just continued listening.

"Do you think that man was serious? Do you really think that he'd try to take Christopher away from us?"

"Remember that it's not just him. He told me that the most powerful people in the country want to have our son 'relocated.'"

"We have to do something!"

"Of course, but what can we to do? Marie, I care more about Christopher than anyone does. It's only that I don't see any way out of this, for us or him. Now that the government knows what he can do, I'm afraid he'll just be endangering people, no matter where he goes or what he does; especially if he tries to resist them and stay here. We'll all be in danger if he does that."

"I don't care. I hope he does stand up to those government ruffians."

"Yes, me too, but you know he won't; not if he thinks it will put us in danger. Our son is too much of an adult to do that to us. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should tell him, I just... I'm worried we're going to lose our boy, no matter what happens."

That conversation bothered Christopher a lot. He went back to his room almost immediately, and sat down on the edge of his bed, but couldn't bring himself to fall asleep. He was just too worried. He'd heard and understood more than enough of what his parents had just been saying, and was trying to find some kind of solution by rolling the subject over in his mind. Obviously, there was no way that he could stay where he was. His mother had been right about that. He couldn't endanger his family or friends. Still, he wasn't sure where exactly he could go. The government people knew who he was, and they'd seen his face and knew his name. Plus, he'd probably have a hard time surviving on his own without using his powers and drawing even more attention to himself.

At last, Christopher Robin got down off his bed and began to pray for his parents, and for a solution, and unfortunately, he still couldn't think of one, even after he got back up.

Instead, Christopher pulled out his pen and a piece of paper, and began to write, sitting down at his brand new, bedroom work table.

"Please help me find a way out of this." Christopher Robin wrote on the paper, though he wasn't sure if anyone would ever read it, "I don't know what to do. I want my folks and my friends to be safe, but I don't want to work for any government men. I just want to go to school, and make friends and have fun. Maybe that's impossible, but please, please, please. At least give me someplace safe to hide."

Then, he signed the paper "Christopher Robin," and put it down on his desk. However, just then, he thought he saw something fly by his window. It was probably just a bird, but nevertheless, he opened the window quickly to look outside, and just like that, his paper flew right out the window and into the air. Christopher watched in dismay as the paper flew off on the wind, being carried through the air, further and further up, until finally, it had disappeared from sight, and he couldn't even clearly remember what he'd written on it.

With a sigh, he closed the window and slumped back into bed, sure that nothing had really been accomplished, when suddenly, he heard two sharp noises from almost directly overhead. It sounded like two large, heavy suitcases being dropped to the ground at once, and he immediately got up and rushed for the door to his room. The noise had come from the attic.

Quickly, Christopher went to get the attic key, then went upstairs and put it in the sturdy, wooden door, wondering what he'd do if it turned out to be some kind of burglar or something. However, as the door swung open, and Christopher looked inside, the sight that met his eyes filled him with both healthy worry and childlike wonder.

The End


End file.
